


Switch Off The Future

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Touch Chancellor, Bad end, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, FFXV Holiday Exchange 2019, Fate and Destiny, Grooming, Implied Child Molestation, Imprisonment, Objectification, Possession, Self-objectification, lots of really nasty shit okay, luna has no self-esteem in this fic and that's valid tbh, many liberties with canon were taken, one-sided lunoct, referenced promptis, scourge grossness, this is not supposed to be romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: Luna is halfway through writing her first letter in Ardyn’s notebook when she must put her pen down and ask herself – is she being unfaithful?That’s nonsense, she thinks.Noctis and I are not even married. We’re still so young.But does the present really matter when her fate is so spelled out?
Relationships: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Ardyn Izunia, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33
Collections: FFXV Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	Switch Off The Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRose/gifts).



> for BlackRose!
> 
> I couldn't find a way to work in the ardynoct angle, but other than that I really hope you enjoy this!! thank you for your patience during the writing process, and I hope your holidays are good <3
> 
> title is from this porcupine tree [ song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZuxErudMPc)

The secret passageway stretches before her, ominous and cold.

Gentiana is standing next to the bookshelf Luna had to move in order to access it, her smile a cipher as always. She’s been practically attached to Luna’s side in the days since the Imperials came and took everything – everything, that is, except for her messengers, and her faith.

“It leads out to the main foyer?” Luna asks, looking up at her companion.

Gentiana doesn’t say anything for a moment, only smiling serenely. Then:

“It leads to the future.”

 _A future out of here?_ Luna thinks. _A future of freedom?_

She closes her eyes and behind her eyelids she sees fire, and blood, and sylleblossoms crushed underfoot. She hears Noctis wailing her name.

Luna takes a deep breath, and pads inside.

The tunnel is dark and rough against the thin shoes she’s wearing, and it seems entirely made of brick. When the light from her bedroom no longer helps her see, Luna snaps her fingers and a small flame of white appears between them, illuminating her way through the twists and turns ahead.

She hears the voices before she sees the exit – entirely men, some with Tenebraen accents, likely guards. The others’ are totally unfamiliar, and a chill runs down her spine when she realizes just how much things are going to change in her homeland, apart from merely being imprisoned in her room.

The door leading out is completely different from the brick surrounding it. It feels colder than the rest of the tunnel but smooth and familiar, like the marble that lines the floors of the manor.

She opens the door just a sliver, and sees the pillars that border the main foyer of Fleuret Manor, and there in the center of them, a group of Imperials ready to take a tour.

The Emperor is present, and upon seeing him something primal and angry stirs to life within her chest. He’s flanked by MTs, of course, a different model than the ones currently standing sentry outside her bedroom door, but also two men – a positively ancient, white-haired man in armor and a lab coat, and a red-haired man with a hat, who looks younger in comparison to the other two.

He catches her eye, and instantly she knows she’s been caught.

Luna panics, sealing the marble door once more and turning to run back to her bedroom, forgoing the magic light this time entirely. Over and over her mind replays the look in his eyes, something like _recognition_ – her skin crawls, and she runs faster, as if he is on her very heels.

Back in her bedroom, Gentiana has disappeared. Luna slams the secret door shut and somehow pushes the bookcase back into place by herself, and finally peeks out her front door to check if the troopers assigned to stand guard are just as immovable and impassive as they were before she left. She hopes she’s safe – she goes to her bed and prays for the Astrals to make it so, until she hears boots in the hallway outside.

No matter. If the Empire wants torture her, or lock her up somewhere yet more confining, they can try. She has sworn herself to the Astrals, and will stop at nothing to someday fulfill that.

Her door creaks open, and sure enough, in steps the red-haired man, but he’s not flanked by any guards – not even her own.

Luna scrambles off her bed and stands, straight and tall.

“What do you want?’

The man smiles softly, meeting her eyes.

“I must admit, it is an honor to finally meet the Oracle.”

Luna glares at him defiantly. “I’m not the Oracle. My mother –”

The words are automatic until suddenly she remembers, and the burden on her shoulders grows even heavier. She looks down and tries to ignore the tangled nest of emotions building up in her chest.

“I understand,” the man says, and takes to one knee. “And I am so, _utterly_ sorry for your loss. Had I known that Aldercapt and Verstael were planning to use such force in taking your kingdom, I would have intervened, and your mother would be alive.”

He isn’t smiling when he says it, and for some reason, the somber expression looks out of place among his features.

“Thank you,” Luna admits, though weary. “I appreciate the thought.” Then: “You saw me, didn’t you?”

“That I did. Though, I can’t say that I am upset. We _are_ going to have to block off that exit, you understand, and search for any others leading out of the manor – but that’s merely protocol. I will not tell any of my colleagues about your role in finding them.”

Luna’s pounding heart slows. “And why not?”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat. “Because, young Oracle, I know what it’s like to live as a caged thing.”

In his hand he holds a sylleblossom; untouched, unruined.

“It’s yours,” he says.

Luna extends a hand – but almost immediately draws it back.

“How do I know I can trust your word?”

“Because,” he smiles, “I also know about your messengers.” He takes off his hat with his free hand, placing it over his heart. “And their secret stays with me, as well.”

 _Umbra and Pryna_. If she has an Imperial on her side, keeping her secrets, then perhaps she can find some way to correspond with Noctis unnoticed.

He thrusts the flower out again. “Take it, go on.”

She reaches out carefully and grasps the stem, taking it like it’s the most delicate thing she’s ever touched. He stands.

“The world’s a big old place,” he says, drawing the last three words out. He replaces his hat. “Filled with wonders.”

He turns to leave, but Luna catches his sleeve. “What was your name, sir?”

His golden eyes sparkle in the fading light from the window.

“Call me Ardyn.”

*

Ardyn comes once a week, always bearing gifts.

He is her precious view into the world outside her bedroom window, of distant and familiar lands alike. He’ll sit across from her at the small table she eats at, and they’ll talk of his travels and her hobbies over tea. He even allows her to get _angry_ , angry at her imprisonment, and her brother’s cowardice, and her frustrations with finding a way to communicate with Lucis. Ardyn is a friend and a comfort, a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on when she can’t keep the pain in any longer.

She is still not able to leave her quarters, and the secret passageway leading to the manor foyer has been completely bricked up – but she is clean, and she is well-fed, and she can rely on Ardyn bringing parcels of new clothes monthly.

When she is fourteen, she successfully sends her first letter to Noctis. The day when Pryna reappears with a letter in her mouth Luna cries and cries with relief, overwhelmed by the knowledge that her salvation must finally be at hand.

Luna continues the correspondence, placing another letter in Pryna’s mouth, this time with details of the guards that patrol the halls, and of Ravus’s position in the military, and of Ardyn.

Pryna doesn’t return on time.

Luna practically tears her hair out all that week, praying to the Astrals for guidance, consorting with Gentiana, calling upon Umbra over and over again to ensure that at least _he_ is still safe and sound.

“You don’t seem yourself tonight,” Ardyn says on his visit the week after Pryna disappears. He’s brought her dinner, but she’s not interested in eating it. Luna pushes around the vegetables on her plate in a dejected slump, and even that cannot help but remind her of Noctis.

“I’m simply not hungry,” she replies, and straightens. “My apologies. I’ll eat later.”

Ardyn reaches out, and gently brushes the plate out of her grasp.

“The food is not my concern.” He bends slightly, looking her in the eyes. “Are _you_ alright?”

Initially, his gaze makes her shiver – her fingers itch with the urge to call her magic, or her mother’s trident, or Umbra, something imbued with holiness. But when the discomfort passes, she finds herself compelled by something in the way he looks at her.

“One of my messengers has gone missing. A little white dog named Pryna.”

Ardyn’s expression is that of picturesque shock. “Missing? How terrible. No wonder you’re so upset.”

Luna nods. “She might be injured, or trapped – the Imperials may have gotten to her, and worse, I don’t even know if my message was delivered.”

“I haven’t heard anything from my compatriots, I promise you that,” Ardyn mutters.

For a brief moment, Luna had forgotten that he hails from Niflheim as well.

“Tell me, where did you send your little pup off to?” he continues.

She looks at her hands. “Lucis. Insomnia.”

“Ah.”

In that moment she once again sends a prayer to the Astrals for Pryna’s protection – but they never seem to listen, do they?

“Tell you what,” Ardyn says, rubbing a finger over his chin. “I’ll put one of my men on it.”

Luna whips her head up. “No, you can’t, you simply _can’t_ let anyone else know –”

He raises a hand to silence her, and she obeys.

“I’ve a…sleeper agent, in the Crown City. Loyal to _only_ me. He won’t tell another soul in the military; I promise you that.” Ardyn leans back again, this time with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

The truth is, Luna doesn’t know what to feel. Something about this situation feels _wrong_ , and her magic stirs within her, growing restless at the very idea of making a bargain with this man. But what other choice does she have? Her messengers are beings entrusted to _her_ , anyway, in _her_ care with _her_ guidance. What kind of an Oracle would she be if she let the Astrals down?

“You’d really do that for me?”

He twists his smirk into a frown. “Why, of course, my dear. Don’t you trust me?”

Her heart hurts – of course she does. He’s the only one who’s shown her kindness in the last two years, a fact she can’t even claim of her brother.

“I do,” she says, and swallows the premonitions inside her.

“Excellent. I shall contact him immediately.”

Luna moves faster than she ever has in her life, even during what she remembers of the attack. She rises from her chair and practically jumps on Ardyn, wrapping her arms around his chest.

“Thank you,” she says into the folds of his coat. He smells like fall, like spices and licorice. “Thank you, thank you…”

“It’s nothing, my dear Oracle,” he says, hands settling around her back, scooping her up into his lap.

And if one of those hands slips under the hem of her skirt at some point in the evening, she doesn’t have the heart to say anything.

*

Pryna does return. And when she does, Gentiana stops visiting.

It hurts for those first few weeks, to be left alone with no one but her pups and the Imperials in the manor. But then it occurs to her – with Ardyn to hold her and her newly found communication with Noctis, she’s not alone, not really. The pain fades and she carries on, though her shoulders droop more, and she finds it harder to smile without reason.

Once Pryna is safe and sound, she makes the decision not to put her on another mission like that again. It’s Umbra that she sends out to retrieve Noctis’s response, and then again, when she sends one back.

Ardyn is the one to suggest the idea of a notebook, one night at dinner, and it’s like a little light bulb going off in Luna’s head. She and Noctis make do with a mostly-blank notebook she had found after rummaging around in her dresser until Luna’s next birthday, when a sturdy, hard-covered, red-and-gold book is slipped under her door in wrapping paper.

She knows who it’s from, of course. All these years, and he’s never stopped showering her with gifts.

It seems odd, to use this book, likely made in Niflheim and given to her by the Chancellor, for writing journal entries and love notes to the man the Astrals literally created her for. Noctis seems so carefree in comparison to her, but she worries he’d get angry if he knew about _him_ , and his touch, and their companionship.

Luna is halfway through writing her first letter in Ardyn’s notebook when she must put her pen down and ask herself – is she being unfaithful?

 _That’s nonsense,_ she thinks _. Noctis and I are not even married. We’re still so young._

But does the present really matter when her fate is so spelled out?

Besides, it’s obvious how much Ardyn _wants her_ – she catches the way he looks at her when he thinks she’s not looking, and it’s equal parts sorrow and lust. Of course she’s noticed how his hands seek out uncomfortable places and linger there, and how willing he seems to lie to his Empire for her sake. Even if she _wasn’t_ made for Noctis, she’s a teenager – it would be wrong to indulge Ardyn even if she wanted to.

And that’s the thought that keeps her up at night – with how kind he’s been to her, does she _owe_ him her body? Is it the least she can do?

Does she deserve any of this?

*

When Luna turns eighteen, the Empire allows her to assume her official duties as Oracle.

For the first time in six years, she is allowed to go outside – she is allowed to feel the precious sun on her face, and walk around her gardens, and use the magic that she has been holding back for what feels like eons.

It’s not long before she’s allowed to take trips outside of Tenebrae, too, to heal the Scourge that has only gotten worse while she’s been locked away. It’s true that she’s always flanked by MTs and military officials on these outings, but at least they don’t get in the way of what she’s meant to do: heal and serve her people.

It’s…not as exciting as she thought it would be.

It feels _good_ to release her power, true, but the euphoria of her calling is held back by the sticky feeling of Scourge on her hands, and by the amount of raw energy it takes to heal her subjects. Every night when she settles into bed pain lances through her back, stealing her breath away, leaving her wondering if her actions are worth this cost.

It has to be. This is what she was put on this star for.

She’s proud of herself when she can keep up a poker face around Ardyn. Being on the road so often has limited their dinners and other meetings, which does make it easier to hide the pain she feels. It seems the only person she talks to anymore is Noctis, and failing that, her messengers.

But even Noctis is starting to fall through.

He isn’t talking as much, and Luna can’t place why. She sends messages and messages and only gets non-committal responses, sometimes consisting of only one word. No pictures, either, citing a messy room as the reason.

Finally allowed out here in the open, she suddenly feels more isolated than ever.

*

It’s funny – her magic reacts the same way around Ardyn now as it does those who are infected.

*

She is twenty. She is _twenty_ , and she shouldn’t be crying over such a childish thing.

The notebook is askew on her desk, slammed down and carelessly left open. Her pen is on the floor, and her ink has spilled, dripping its way down with there with it.

The page with the most recent date reads:

_Luna,_

_I was wondering if you had any advice on this…I really wanna ask Prompto out, but I don’t know how. I know he’s bi, but he’s got to be popular with girls, right? And I don’t know if he wants...the attention that comes with dating someone like me._

_Your opinion means a lot to me. I’m just wondering if this is even a good idea._

_Ugh._

_~Noctis._

Luna lies on the foot of her bed, head buried in her arms, snot running down her nose as she sobs.

Of course it’s not a good idea – his heart is only going to be broken by destiny and death. It’s _her and Noctis_ that is written in the stars, not Noctis and the MT she traded letters with once.

How has he escaped his calling for so long? Why has _he_ gotten to grow up like a normal boy, while she remains burdened with her knowledge of the future, imprisoned and treated like a plaything for the Gods?

She just wanted this _one_ thing, something she was _promised_ , and now it seems she’s not even allowed to have that.

Her head is starting to hurt from crying so hard, an ache starting at the top of her skull and pulsing down her body. Her magic swells and with it comes sharp, shooting pains ricocheting through her abdomen.

Warmth suddenly embraces her from behind, and her sobbing stills, for just a moment. She stops breathing entirely when heavily clothed arms circle around her front and stay there, holding her.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“Never worry about that, my dear,” Ardyn whispers into her ear. “I appreciate your most intimate moments.”

Shivers erupt down her spine. Ardyn is warm and solid, true, but he holds her in a vice-like grip, and she doesn’t think she could free herself if she tried. It’s not even something she could use her magic on; she knows no offensive spells, nothing but healing and aid, neither of which will get her out of this.

So Luna does what she does best: she sacrifices.

She tilts her head back and captures Ardyn’s lips with her own, and only then does his grip on her middle relax itself. She’s able to swivel around, though awkwardly – she’s practically sitting in his lap now, but at least she has better access when it comes to kissing.

His hands wander downward, and she lets them, just as she always has. Her fingers find his hair, a dark, rich burgundy in the low light of her bedroom, and tangle in his locks as she presses him closer to her.

After what feels like both an instant and an eternity, Ardyn guides her up and back onto the bed, against the pillows, underneath him.

“You’ve no idea how badly I’ve wanted this,” he says, eyes glazed over slightly.

She does. And though every part of her is screaming out how much she _doesn’t_ _want_ _this_ , how it goes against everything she’s ever been taught, there is a traitorous urge buried deep inside that craves this almost as much as he does.

Luna swallows her fear, and forces herself to kiss him again.

*

She’s not surprised when Ardyn becomes a regular nighttime visitor after that, slipping into her room one, two, three times a week to receive payment for all his years of good works.

The sex almost doesn’t hurt, after a while.

*

When Insomnia falls, Luna _knows_.

She knows that what Ardyn said to her that first day they met was a blatant lie. She knows what the Empire’s game is, and what he likely has to do with it. She knows she can’t remain a pawn.

Here, in what has become of Insomnia, she feels more at home than she’s ever been. Even though the city is in ruins and Imperial dropships loom overhead, Luna can’t help but wonder what her childhood might have been like if she had let Regis take her with him. If she closes her eyes, she can see the perfect skyline, and the gleaming towers of the Citadel, and days spent with Noctis and his friends in the streets below.

Nyx is a comfort. Nyx is the first Lucian she’s seen in a long time, and he lives up to her expectations. They’ve holed up in an abandoned office tower since getting rid of the tracking device in her hair clip. The daemons don’t seem to have penetrated deep enough into the building to find them there, buried in the heart of it. They don’t have long, but Nyx has found this space so that they can get some rest before the Imperials catch up to them.

“I’m taking first watch,” he says, and leaves her in a nearby cubicle before going to stand at the door.

“What about you?”

He shrugs. “It’s my job to be on guard. Besides, you’re the thing that everyone wants right now. Can’t let that happen.”

 _You’re the thing that everyone wants._ He’s right, and it puts her stomach in knots.

She looks down at the Ring cradled in her palms and the first thing she thinks of is Ravus, willing to do anything for this cursed piece of metal and stone but unwilling to protect her from her imprisonment, or the pain that the Gods cause her, or Ardyn.

And Ardyn… he’s likely above the city right now, isn’t he? He probably even knows where they are in this precise moment. He’s always known everything about her, anyway. There has never been a way to escape him.

She looks back up to Nyx, facing away from her now with his hands clasped behind his back. She can see a sliver of his expression from this angle – aloof, clearly exhausted, but unmistakably alert. He _wants_ to protect her, and that’s a good feeling, if an unfamiliar one.

Maybe Noctis will be the same way. Maybe when she gets out of this city and begins the process of waking the Gods, they’ll find each other and a way to make it out of the prophecy not only alive, but _together_.

Luna brings her knees closer to her chest, leans her head against the wall of the cubicle, and closes her eyes. There has to be a way out of this, and when she finds it, she will no longer be haunted by pain, or guilt, or her unanswered prayers.

She drifts off, trying not to think about Ardyn’s arms around her.

*

The wind that sweeps the altar is more than freezing, colder than the times she’s visited Gralea, colder than what she remembers of Gentiana. Her dress is ripped across the shoulder, and the hip, and in the part of the skirt near her ankles. Her shoes have long since been abandoned, proving too impractical to barter with an angry sea goddess in. Her hair has fallen out of its ponytail and now blows around her face with the wind, frizzy and tangled.

It takes all of her energy to remain standing. Leviathan has long since left, distracted by Noctis up there in the sky, but the pain remains and it’s the strongest it's ever been. She clings to her mother’s trident with an iron grip, leaning heavily on it as she stands her ground and watches the fight rage on above her.

Ravus did warn her about this part, the self-destruction that comes with being the Chosen Oracle. Part of Luna is willing to give up here, collapse and let her magic consume her, finally at peace knowing that she has done everything that she can for Noctis. Perhaps this is what the prophecy always meant, when it talked of her death.

But if her story ended here, what would her legacy be? That of a waif who allowed herself to be captured and manipulated by Imperial and God alike, only to die just when she had a shot at true freedom?

“All this way and you’re still hanging on,” comes that _voice_ , the voice burned into her skull permanently, the voice that haunts her every waking moment. Her magic flares and she roars in pain, turning around and glaring as hard as she can at him.

“ _I am not dying here,_ ” she seethes, and out of the corner of her eye she sees sparks of gold and purple.

Ardyn smiles, almost self-deprecatingly, and looks at the stone underneath his boots. “No, you’re not.”

Luna levels her trident at him, pointing it dead at his throat.

“ _Why are you here,_ ” she screams, with all the power of the stars pulsing through her veins.

His yellow eyes snap up to hers. “As always, my dear, I come bearing gifts.” He smiles.

And then his face begins almost to melt, Scourge bleeding from his eyes and his nose and dribbling down his cheeks, black viscous stuff that the magic in her whispers _must be burned clean._

“ _You_ ,” she starts, and the voice coming out of her isn’t hers anymore, instead mingling with the voices in her head – “ _you’re the Accursed_.”

Ardyn removes his hat and places it to his heart, and with his other hand, brushes the trident aside and out of his way.

“Years and years of hiding,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m sure you can relate.”

Luna _screeches_ , an eldritch noise that is clearly not her own, swinging at her sworn enemy with the trident. There’s a flash of sparkling red and Ardyn disappears from in front of her. Behind her, his hand suddenly grasps at her wrist and twists, hard. At this point, that pain doesn’t even register compared to the war going on within her own body – all she knows is she’s dropped the trident, and the game is up.

Ardyn presses his face into her neck, nuzzling her from behind. “The Astrals are trying to reclaim you. Can you feel it? You are not yourself, dear Oracle.”

She writhes in his grip. He is the manifestation of all that is unholy and diseased – his very touch may as well be burning her skin clean off. Luna tries to use her free hand to claw at his face, but she can’t find purchase with the oily Scourge smeared all over. Ardyn reasserts his strength, twisting her captive arm harder – but tenderly, he places his other over the one pawing at his cheeks, redirecting it into his hair, wet now from salt spray and rain.

“You really have only two options. You can die here, on the Altar of the Tidemother with your future husband watching, as prophesied…or you can come with me.”

Everything hurts. Everything inside her _aches_ to heal the creature behind her, leaving nothing behind but ashes and perhaps a hat on the wind. She’s burning from the inside out, and she can’t stand still, and Ardyn is still twisting her arm behind her back, there are Gods speaking inside of her head and she just wants it all to stop stop stop stopstopstop _stopstopstopstopstop_

“Will you end it?” she asks, tears spilling from her eyes and running down her face. “I – I don’t want this _pain_ , I never _wanted_ –”

“Oh, dear. I know. I know.” Ardyn sounds like a placating father, comforting an upset child with struggles he finds all too familiar. “I know more than anyone how much it hurts.” His grip on her arm loosens almost entirely, and she falls back against him.

“It’s _too much,_ ” she gasps in agreement. It feels like a thousand swords piercing her body. “It _hurts_ , make it stop, make it _stop_ –”

“As you wish, my dear,” he says, turns her around, and presses their lips together.

For a brief moment, the Scourge flooding into her body burns more than the Astrals’ magic does – she screams against his lips as everything flushes out of her, the white magic, the voices, the feeling she’s had nearly all her life of doing _something_ _wrong_ in the face of what she now realizes are insane expectations.

When Ardyn pulls away, he’s grinning like she’s never seen him before.

And Luna?

For the first time in her life, Luna feels nothing at all.


End file.
